


Trials & Tribulations

by xenobia4



Series: Uncharted: The Nathan Drake Derective [1]
Category: Uncharted, Uncharted (Video Games)
Genre: Blood and Injury, Blood and Violence, Gun Kink, Gun Violence, M/M, Sleep Deprivation, Stabbing, Wound Fucking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-28
Updated: 2017-08-27
Packaged: 2018-11-20 16:44:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 22,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11339379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xenobia4/pseuds/xenobia4
Summary: Harry Flynn seeks out Nate to help stop a power-hungry sadist, but when things don't go according to plan, Nathan Drake winds up as an unwilling captive in a game of torment and anguish.





	1. Evade & Capture

**Author's Note:**

> So I had this idea running in my head for a few days and, after literally starting it on scratch paper at work, I decided to sit down on my computer and flesh it out. Please let me know if it's worth continuing! It's my first "Uncharted" fic, so I'm a little nervous. (laughs)

**1**

**Evade & Capture**

Nate released a breath, exhaling and allowing himself to sink into the couch pressed against the wall. The break was well-deserved. After running through the Karakum Desert in Central Asia for what turned out to be a fruitless effort over a rumor for a client, getting back to the wonders of central air was a nice welcome, and one he had no intention of leaving for a while. Sully had to catch a flight to England to meet with an old colleague for something or other, so Nate was more than willing to lay low for the time being. The last thing he wanted was to take on a job – at least for a few days.

He shut his eyes, listening to the ticking of a clock on the wall across the room, trying to clear his mind. Getting his body to relax was easy; it was his mind that he always had trouble turning off. His mind would always try to find some obscure thought to latch onto in an attempt to deprive him of sleep. Most nights, those thoughts would not last too long, less than an hour, but other nights, he would stay awake for hours. It was those nights when he would get up to find something to occupy his time – usually looking up history and historical artifacts in a way to connect them. More times than he would like to admit, Sully had gotten up only to find that Nate had never even gone to bed. Either that or the young treasure hunter would be passed out on the table with scattered papers under him. Those were the times Sully would have to partially carry the barely coherent man to bed.

He rolled onto his side, curling his legs as his now faced the back end of the couch. The familiar scent was a welcome and he could finally feel his body start to relax. Yet, as he felt his mind tinging on the edge of sleep, another thought of his past pulled him back: when he was still young and not as experienced, pickpocketing a man that resulted in failure. The man was older, older than Sully was when he first had his run-in with the man at age fifteen. He offered to buy Nate food, but then expected a specific form of payment. He remembered his brother finding him before anything happened and punching the man in the face before they both hauled out.

It taught Nate a valuable lesson at that age, which he would later use for his own advantages, but still not a memory he enjoyed dwelling on frequently.

The thoughts began drifting into darkness, slipping farther and farther away before his body and mind were able to synchronize.

\---

His mind came back online as the loud crack of thunder pierced his ears, shaking the room. He groaned and curled tightly into the fetus position, attempting to go back to sleep before he fully woke up. Another low rumble followed by a loud “boom” put a stop to that and he cursed. He rolled onto his back, eyes now open as he stared at the ceiling, listening to the sound of rain outside. He grabbed the pillow he was using and shoved it over his face, yelling into the pillow every obscenity he could think to the sky.

“Now that was a bit uncalled for, love.”

Nate tossed the pillow down and jerked his head in the direction of the voice.

He shot up, his hand going under the couch cushions before brandishing a handgun and pointing it at the speaker as he stood. A familiar face was sitting in the armchair across from the couch, his elbows on his knees.

“Whoa, whoa, calm down there, cowboy. I’m not here to cause you trouble. I could’ve done that already if I wanted.” Nate furrowed his brow as his hand slowly brought down the weapon, though his grip stayed tight, his eyes dark

“What the hell? How the hell did you—”

Before he could finish his question, the brown-haired man motioned to the door. “I walked right in. Should really check your doors, mate.”

A thousand and one questions began swarming through his head, his face trying to convey every emotion at once, resulting in mixed expressions. He rubbed the side of his head, trying to get a grasp on words.

“How the hell are you alive?!” was the first and most important one to come out of his mouth.

Harry Flynn crooked a smile before shrugging, still sitting in a relaxed pose, seeming unfazed by the question and Nathan’s overall reaction. “C’mon. I was in a room filled with that blue sap. Did you really think I didn’t have a backup plan? I’m not that dimwitted, Nathan.”

A look of shear confusion washed over the younger man.

He saw Flynn’s lifeless body, blown by Lazarevic’s grenade. Elena nearly lost her life and she was not as close to the explosion.

As though reading his mind, Flynn stood up and walked up to him. Nathan took a step back. “Oh, it hurt like hell – nearly died, actually. Glad to see you checked before you up and left me there.”

“You tried to kill us.”

“Exactly. Tried. Didn’t succeed, though, did I?” Nathan shot him a scowl. “Besides, I wasn’t the one who took the bloody pin out of it. I just had my grip on the handle.”

“Get the hell out,” came the sharp response as he pointed to the door with the gun.

“Look, Nate, I wasn’t actively trying to kill any of you assholes.”

“You shot me,” his voice flared with anger as he involuntarily took another step backwards.

“Desperate times, darling.” The response he received was an expression of anger and non-amusement as the other’s hand appeared to grip the pistol tighter. “If I wanted you dead then, don’t you think I would’ve done it?” Flynn sighed as he threw his arms up in submission. “Listen, I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t require your services.”

Nathan crossed his arms over his chest. “Now why would I do anything for you?”

Flynn moved, turning to the side as he reached into his back pocket. Out of reflex, Nathan’s arm shot up as he pointed the gun directly at the other man. Flynn rolled his eyes and waved his other hand. “Oh, put that thing down before you hurt yourself.” He took out an envelope from his pocket. Still on edge, Nathan slowly brought his weapon back down. He put it into the back waistband of his jeans as Flynn held the envelope out to him. Snatching it, he opened the flap and took out the paper inside.

It was old and nearly crumbled in his hands. The paper was filled with various symbols, scrawled writing in Spanish throughout. A picture of a stone colored in red was circled with the phrase “irá para alimentas el poder” written off to the side. Other phrases – “debajo de la tierra” and “negro más negro” – were across the page. A diagram of a wooden elevator was drawn in the corner.

He brought the paper down and looked a Flynn. “What’s this supposed to be?”

Flynn held out his hand, motioning for the paper and envelope back, which Nathan obliged. “See, that’s the thing. I don’t know. But apparently my client did. And she’s was willing to sacrifice a lot for it, mate.”

Nathan shrugged and put his hands on his hips. “So what’s that have to do with me?”

The lighter-haired man began folding the paper carefully back. He returned it to its resting place in the envelope, then slipped it back into his pocket. “Well, see, that’s the thing. Nothing, really. But the woman’s gone mad – and I mean full on demented. I stopped helping her and, well, she didn’t take that too kindly. Lazarevic doesn’t hold a candle to this woman when it comes down to levels of sanity.”

“So let me take a wild guess here: she wants you dead.”

“That would be the ticket.”

Nathan nodded his head. He dropped his arms and chuckled. He began shaking his head and waving his hand. “Oh, you’re just piling on the reasons for me to help.” He looked to the Englishman before motioning to the door. “You have fun with that. If you’re still alive in a month, hit me up and tell me all about it.” He let a small laugh escape his throat at the other’s expression, clearly not finding it as entertaining. He passed Flynn and opened the front door, motioning with his free arm for the older man to leave.

“Look, Nate,” Flynn started, saying Nathan’s name with a sigh. “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t need your help.” There was a pause between them as Nathan searched the other’s face, as though trying to read his sincerity. “I’ve seen what this woman is capable of. I’ve seen her flay the skin off of someone who only questioned her. She had one of her comrades eaten alive by dogs because he suggested this stone she’s after doesn’t exist. If she’s like this already, and if this stone does what that paper claims, well…I don’t know about you, love, but I’d rather not think of that.”

Nathan stared at him, half of his brain telling him to let it go, kick Flynn out and leave him to his own devices, while the other half was calculating to risks and wanting to do something to help the guy out.

Always the hero.

If this woman was truly as horrible as Flynn described, then willingly going to her only to make sure she would fail was begging for trouble. If he did decide to help his old comrade, the last thing he could do was tell Sully, less the man refuse to let Nathan go alone and force himself to tag along. That was too much a risk that he was not willing to take. Then there was the chance that Harry Flynn was lying and, instead, setting him up. That was not too far out of the realm of possibility, either. It was not like the man had not done it in the past.

However, he could not help but admit what Flynn had said earlier was true: if he had honestly wanted him dead back on the train, he could have done it. He had a clear headshot before he was even noticed, but chose to shoot him in the side. Then again, his aim was also shit.

So there was that.

Going against his better judgement, he groaned and pushed the door shut. He hit the back of his head on the doorframe. “I can’t believe I’m agreeing to this….”  He stared at Flynn. “I swear to God, Flynn. If you so much as blink wrong, I’ll kill you myself.”

“Relax your pretty little head,” he said, walking up to Nathan and placing his hands on his shoulders. “You save my arse, I save yours.”

Nathan let a sarcastic smile cross his face. “Lovely,” he mocked in an English accent, causing Harry to chuckle. He patted Nathan’s cheek before stepping away, causing Nathan to shake his head and shoo his hand away. “So does this crazy lady have a name or what?”

“Alessa Laveaux,” he said as he moved back to the chair he had been sitting on, picking up a small bag that was sitting next to it. He slung the bag over his shoulder and turned back to face Nathan. “Ready to leave when you are, darling.”

\---

A rock slipped from a narrow, rocky high-rise, causing the man to stumble forward before an arm shot across his chest to push him back against the wall. Nathan released a small breath as Flynn kept his arm over him. Below, two men dressed in excavation gear walked by. Despite seeming as though they were standard archaeologists, every person they had encountered was carrying some form of firearm.

An obvious cover for what was happening.

The two men below were carrying AK assault rifles, carrying on a conversation in French. As the rock from above hit the ground, both of the men glanced over. When they looked up, however, both Nathan and Flynn were nowhere to be seen and the men chalked it up to the settling of the mine. They turned their attention back to their conversation before disappearing down a dimly lit pathway.

Off to the side, with their backs completely pressed to the wall, the two fortune hunters exhaled airs of relief.

Harry hit Nathan in the chest with his forearm.

“This is supposed to be a _stealth_ mission, you know.”

“Excuse me. Sorry I can’t account for the earth.”

“Better planning on your part, then.” Nathan mouthed Harry’s response sarcastically, which received a sharp elbow to the stomach. “C’mon. The site’s still a way’s down.”

“Of course it is,” Nathan commented, though Harry had already moved out of earshot.

He continued to the end of the ledge before jumping to the small platform a few feet away where his partner was starting to climb down. His shoes made contact with the ground as he jumped the last few feet of the drop, landing in a crouch. He stood, stretching out his back and lolling his neck before following behind the older man.

As they rounded the corner, light spilled into the shaft. A large opening led to one of the main dig sites. Old lamps on wire were strung up, filling the room with light, along with several lit torches along the interior walls. Old wooden stairs wrapped around the room, leading to a caged-in switch, which was either the power to the lights or to the wooden elevator near the back. A fence blocked off the back of the room. The fence was riddled with old warning signs of “NO ENTRY” and “DANGER.”

Nathan and Harry ducked around separate corners as guards walked around the room, also clad in disheveled digger’s clothes and AKs. Nathan’s eyes searched around the room, his eyes following the fence in the back to the old elevator. Two of the guards were leaning against a wheelbarrow, talking and laughing about something out of earshot. They turned their attention to another approaching them. They exchanged words before one of them rolled their eyes and the one who walked up to them stood on the wooden platform. They gripped a lever on the side and pulled it down. The lights in the mine flickered before the elevator began descending into the ground.

“Let me guess,” Nathan started as he watched the top of the elevator disappear. “The elevator.”

“The elevator, yeah.” Harry looked at Nathan, who was releasing an inaudible groan. “What? You thought it’d be easy? Just like that?”

“I was hoping,” he said, shaking his head.

Harry raised a brow. “You’re as dimwitted as you are pretty.”

Nathan pursed his lips together, as though attempting to formulate a response for coming out with, “Not the worst compliment I’ve ever gotten.” Harry’s face fell flat as Nathan sent him a smug smirk. They turned back to look into the room. “Now how do we do this without getting ourselves killed?” he asked, though he was merely musing to himself. His eyes traced back to the old stairs and wooden walkway above, leading to a chained off area which appeared as though it would lead behind the fence. “Think there’s another way down besides option number one?”

Harry seemed to be following his gaze and shrugged. “Possibly.”

Nathan looked at him. “Did you see anything when you were down here before?”

The response he received was silence. As though calculating, the older man drew out, “I took the direct route.” An aggravated noise from the man beside him. “Now when I left…completely different story.” He flashed all teeth to Nathan, and then ducked into the room, staying low as he moved to a mound of dirt and rock.

Nathan followed after him, mirroring his motions as he came up next to him. Peering around the mound, a guard was sitting on a large rock, taking apart his weapon. Ensuring there were no other guards that could see them, Nathan went first, crouching as he tried his best to stay out of sight. As he came up behind the boulder the man was sitting on, he looked in all directions, then reached up and grabbed the man around the neck and shoulders, pulling him down behind the rock and out of sight. He kept him held for a moment, cutting off the blood flow to the man’s brain long enough for him to slip into unconsciousness. He made sure to stay quiet as he slowly laid the man on the ground. Motioning to Harry, the lighter haired man quickly moving, making sure to grab the now comatose man’s weapon. He grabbed the clip and barrel. After screwing the barrel back on, he tossed the clip to Nathan, who gave him an odd look before the AK was shoved in his direction.

The expression he gave was asking why he was being given the weapon, given that he already had a para .45 in his holster. The response he received was “ask questions later” as Harry went around him to head to the stairs. Shaking his head, Nathan swung the weapon around his back, making sure the strap was tight enough to not cause an issue. He followed after Harry, who was waiting for him at the base of the steps. However, now that they were able to get a good look at them, the realization set in that they would have to find another route. While the first few steps looked to be fine, the entire middle of the staircase was gone, most likely due to wood rot. A curse escaped from Harry’s mouth.

Nathan looked to the immediate area and, eyes landing on an alternate route. He hit the other man in the shoulder with the back of his hand.

“Check it,” he said, nodding to the metal ladder that was attached to the upper platform. Though parts of it were rusted, it still appeared sturdy. Harry looked to Nathan, his hands on his hips as he motioned to it.

“You first, mate.”

Nathan sneered. “You just wanna check out my ass,” he said, walking over and getting ready to jump to reach the ladder.

“Not necessarily,” was the response as he jumped and gripped the first rung. He pulled himself up, having to use only his arms before he had enough rungs for his feet. “That’s just a bonus,” Harry finished as he followed suit.

Once at the top, they knelt down, looking at the men below, trying to scope out another way to get to the passage further underground. The platform they were on wrapped all the way around, with another set of stairs seeming to lead behind the closed off section. None of the guards were paying any attention to the upper section, but neither of the men took that to mean they would not see anything out of the ordinary. They began to slowly traverse across, making sure to keep an eye on all of the guards, in case one of them happened to look up.

The wood creaked beneath them as they kept their footsteps light. Harry was to the front, taking the role of point man, as Nathan monitored the scene around them. Yet, as they kept moving, Nathan failed to notice a soft spot in the wood and, when he stepped, the wood cracked and his foot fell through.

“Shit!” he called out as the rest of the wood started to give way. The splintering wood cut into his ankle and he tried to pry himself loose, but when he attempted to pull his foot loose, the platform began to crack.

One of the guards below yelled out, causing the other men in the room to look up and begin clamoring. Harry was at his feet, trying to help him get his foot dislodged. “So much for the stealth element,” he said, to which the other man cursed at him.

Bullets whizzed by Nathan’s head and he ducked down, yet, when he did, the wood finally broke. “Ah, shit!” he yelled as the entire area around them fell through. Harry was able to jump back just enough to grab Nathan as the wood underneath him hit the ground below. More bullets flew around them as Harry had his arms holding tightly onto the other’s forearms.

“Why do you weigh so much?!” he groaned as he tried to pull Nathan up.

“Don’t blame me because you skipped arm day!” His legs kicked out below him as he tried to propel himself upwards, using his partner’s bodyweight. “Fuck!” One of the bullets made contact with his leg, piercing his left upper thigh.

“I got you! Pull up on one – two – three!” On the count of three, Harry pulled back as Nathan pulled up. As his upper body made contact with the stable section of the platform, Harry grabbed his belt to finish hoisting him up. “Shit, your leg!” Blood began seeping through his jeans and through the puncture wound. Nathan cringed as he dragged himself forward, getting away from the hole and moving to harder wood. “Well, it was a good attempt.” He commented as the shouting below seemed to have become louder. They heard the elevator turn on and looked over to see it ascending. “Shit, shit, shit – we gotta move.” He said as he grabbed Nathan’s arm. “Can you walk on it?”

“Don’t have a choice,” he said, his voice fighting off the hot pain that was radiating from the wound and down his leg as Harry helped pull him to his feet. When he tried to put pressure on his leg, the pain intensified as the muscles flexed around the bullet lodged within. Another curse escaped his lips. Staying true to his word, Harry was at his side, looping Nathan’s arm around his neck as his arm went around his waist, taking part of his weight as they moved towards the stairs on the other end. More bullets were fired at them, forcing them to keep their heads as low as they could.

“Flynn, you fucking coward!” one of the men below yelled out through the gunfire.

“Glad to see you’re as popular as always,” Nathan quipped, cringing again as his leg throbbed.

“My reputation precedes me, what can I say?” The two laughed, despite the situation.

One of the bullets grazed across Harry’s arm.

As they moved closer to the opposing stairs, a small, round object came up over the railing, landing a few feet in front of them, a red light on the side flashing. Without so much as a thought, Nathan let go of Harry and they both began running as fast as they could in the opposite direction, going to only surefire way to avoid the explosion.

Down.

“Go, go, go!!” Nathan yelled as he pushed Harry towards the gap where the platform was at one point. He jumped down after him just as the explosive went off, sending shrapnel and sharp pieces of splintered wood into the air as it destroyed the pathway the led behind the fence.

Harry had barely managed to land on his feet, while Nathan landed on his injured leg before falling to all fours. In a moment, Harry grabbed Nathan’s arm and pulled him to his feet as they started to move as fast as they could towards the shaft they initially came down. Gunfire surrounded them, causing them to keep their hands close to their heads. The adrenaline was enough to have Nathan move quickly, but he could feel his leg starting to grow numb. Moving from the mound towards the passage, one of the guards had the initiative on them and came around the mound, hitting Harry in the face with the butt of his gun. As Harry fell backwards, his hands shooting to his face, Nathan lunged at the man, grabbing his gun and pulling down on it before punching him in the nose. The man made an attempt to recover, but Nathan had confiscated his weapon and hit him square on the temple, causing the guard to hit the ground in a stunned stupor.

Harry quickly recovered and Nathan tossed the gun to him as they continued heading for the shaft. Although he was trying to ignore the numbing pain in his leg, he could feel himself slowing, nearly dragging his leg behind him. He felt a stabbing pain radiate through his right side as a round of bullets managed to make contact. His body hit the ground with a thud, a loud shout escaping. He reached around to take the AK strapped to his back and fire blindly behind him.

The passage was only a few feet away.

He just had to make it that far.

As the thoughts ran across his head, Harry was back at his side, trying to haul him to his feet. “Nate, c’mon! Get your arse up!” Just as Nathan was almost back on his feet, Harry released a shout and dropped him, his hand jerking up to hold the fresh bullet hole in his shoulder. Shaking it off, he turned his attention back to Nathan, who was stumbling as he tried to stand back up.

“Shit – go! I’ll catch up!” he said, as Harry made an attempt to aid him.

“Not with that leg, mate!” When he managed to help Nathan back to his feet, the younger man pushed him forward, forcing him to stay in front. But when Nathan fell again and Harry turned, the younger fortune hunter was pointing his AK at the top opening of the shaft. “What the bloody hell are you doing?!” Harry yelled at him, crouching down as he evaded more gunfire.

“You’re not getting out of here hauling my ass around!”

Without so much as another word, Nathan fired off the rounds at the top of the opening. Rocks began falling, causing Harry to jump backwards just as the entire opening caved in, separating the two of them.

“Nate! Nate, you pillock!” he began shouting as he tried to dislodge some of the rocks. “I’m gonna kill you when I get back in there!”

Nathan sighed as he shook his head and forced his body to turn around. He lifted up the weapon as some of the guards approached, no longer firing. When he pulled the trigger, however, the gun made a hollow click.

Empty clip.

He felt his heartrate increase, but the guards suddenly stopped and turned. Coming up behind them was a young woman, who appeared to be only a few years older than Nathan himself. Her slit eyes and callous expression caused a chill to exude down his spine, which only intensified as the woman smiled, the gesture seeming out of place. Her black hair was pulled back into a tight bun and, despite the environment, she was well-dressed, to the point of wearing high heels. She held her hand up, signaling for the guards to put their weapons down, which they immediately abided. Slowly, she walked up to Nathan, her dark eyes peering down at him, odd amusement on her porcelain face.

“Well, well. What have we here?” she asked, her French accent thick. “A thief? Come to take what’s mine?”

“Don’t flatter yourself, lady.”

She chuckled – no.

 _She giggled_.

Like a small child who found a toy their parents would not allow them to play with.

She walked up to him and crouched down, making eye contact, an odd smirk still gracing her features. “Mr. Nathan Drake,” she spoke his name, putting emphasis on his last name. The way she spoke had Nathan clamp down on his jaw. “Fancy seeing you here, but not unexpected.” Her eyes quickly glanced to the now caved-in opening. Without even turning her head, she said, “Find Flynn and bring him to me. Dead or alive, I’ve no preference.” Three of the guards responded with a “yes, ma’am” and left the group, leaving five others behind. Her gaze returned to Nathan’s, that smile returning. “I must say, it’s quite a surprise…you helping Harry Flynn. Didn’t he try to kill you at one point?”

Nathan shrugged. “Let bygones be bygones.”

She nodded, as though understanding while disapproving. “So let me ask you this, Mr. Drake,” again, emphasis was placed on his name. “What exactly did Mr. Flynn tell you?”

“Sorry, Ms. Laveaux,”—he put the same stress on her name—“but besties don’t tell secrets,” he responded with his usual sarcastic tone, a typical smirk crossing his lips.

Again, she nodded in the same manner. She collected herself, standing straight. In one swift move, she lifted her foot and shoved the heel of her shoe directly into the bullet hole in Nathan’s leg.

He shouted, cursing and yelling louder when she twisted her heel, causing it to press in deeper.

She pulled her heel out, leaving Nathan to roll to the side, holding his leg, his face contorted in pain.

“Honestly, it doesn’t matter what he’s told you. It’s not like you’re leaving any time soon.” She ran her hand over her hair, smoothing down the already-gelled front.

Though his voice came out in a rasp, he still managed to ask, “So what? You’re gonna kill me?”

She laughed and shook her head. Once again, she crouched down, this time grabbing his jaw and forcing him to look at her, her nails digging into his cheeks. “Oh, no, Mr. Drake. You’re much too cute to kill.” She paused as her eyes darkened, her smile spreading wider. “But I love seeing beautiful men in excruciating pain.” His eyebrows knitted together as the realization of her words set in.

 _Flayed the skin_.

 _Eaten alive by dogs_.

His chest dropped as she let him go and stood up. Again, she shoved the heel of her shoe into his wound, forcing another yell out of him before she hastily jerked it out and turned to her guards. “Take him down,” she ordered, voice strict. “Pin him and get the hose.” With that, she walked passed her men and out of sight.


	2. Water Curing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nathan begins to understand what his abductor is more than capable of and the lengths of torture they're willing to go to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is gonna start getting really dark, so if you're up for it, let's go! ☆ﾐ(o*･ω･)ﾉ

** 2 **

**Water Curing**

The bar clamored loudly as Germany scored a goal against England on one of the televisions mounted to the wall. A table situated in the middle of the bar echoed stridently in drunken stupor as one of them made a sly comment about the opposing team, which received slaps on the back along with the clanking and emptying of beer mugs. A female server was standing at a booth off to the side, smiling as the young couple she was taking care of told her about their overseas vacation.

Towards the back of the bar, sitting in a booth nearly hidden behind a wall, Victor Sullivan leaned back in the seat after tapping the ashes off his cigar and taking a drink from his bottled beer. Across him, a man, not much younger than his prodigy, leaned forward with his forearms on the table, one hand tracing the rim of a dirty martini. Sully brought his gaze from the football game on the screen on the wall to the man he had been summoned to meet with.

“There has to be a reason he wants it,” Sully said in reference to their conversation, his eyes darting around, ensuring their conversation was staying private.

The man followed his gaze back before leaning in, his brows raised. “That’s the thing,” his response came, attempting to mask a French accent with an English one and failing miserably. “I know there’s a reason, but he wouldn’t even so much as hint as to why.”

Sully fell quiet, facing down as his brain searched for an answer. “You think he’s working for somebody.” The sentence ended in a statement and the young man nodded. Sully sighed and leaned forward to tap his cigar. “Any idea who?”

The silence he received in response answered his question.

The expression on the man’s face was intense, his eyes seeming to stare passed him.

That look never bode well.

After Sully and Nathan had returned from the Karakum Desert from what turned out to be a fool’s errand, Sully found a letter from an old colleague, asking him to come to England for a possible mission. There was not much information given in the letter. It was a few sentences requesting his help in locating some form of rare stone, which was said to feed and fuel a person’s rage. Normally, he would have dismissed the claims and ignored it altogether, but paper clipped to the letter was a snapshot of an old diagram with phrases in Spanish scrawled throughout. Judging from what he could see, the paper appeared barely a century old – much too recent to be easily discounted.

Initially, he was going to have Nathan join him, but after the two of them nearly lost their lives on their last endeavor, and for what ultimately turned out to be nothing, he decided to let the kid have a much needed break. That and if he had chosen to tell him about another type of mystical artifact, he knew Nathan would be more than willing to gear up and head out; and the last thing he needed was his prodigy jumping headfirst into another scavenger hunt, only to come out empty-handed.

“If it’s who I think it is”—the man’s voice cut through his train of thought—“and this thing turns out to actually exist, anyone that’s ever gone against her will be—”

“Whoa, wait,” Sully cut him off, waving his hand. “‘Her’?” His brow line was furrowed, the pronoun clearly unexpected.

“Alessa Laveaux,” the response came with such a low tone and dark flection, it was as though mentioning the name would summon her presence.

The two of them locked eyes, Sully’s searching his memory banks on the familiarity of the name. When he finally remembered, his expression changed. “Not the same woman who had her crew massacred?” The look he was given confirmed. He quickly glanced around him before leaning in, voice as low as it could go to still be heard over the loud bustle of the crowded bar. “I thought she was put away for life? Rotting in some prison in East Kandahar?”

“Last I heard, she was bailed out. Money talks, Sully. You know this.”

Sully released a string of smoke in a long breath as he sat back in the booth’s seat, crossing his arms over his chest. “I don’t know, J _ó_ n.” His mind raced, contemplating the risks involved. “If that woman is involved in any way, shape or form, you can count me out.” He held up his hand, cutting the young man off as he tried to refute. “I saw the news, I read those reports. Massacring her team was the best thing she did for them. What she did to those kids – forced them into? Is that really the type of person whose bad side you want to be on?” Jón’s shoulders fell as his eyes traced the table, recalling the reports. What the news media covered failed to even scratch the surface of what she had done to those she had once called ally – the torture, the mutilations, the overall brutality. “If my memory serves correctly, all the ones she did that to were around your age.”

“Yeah, I know,” Jón said sharply, his false English accent giving way to his French as his aggravation grew. “She had the older members do it, then killed them all. I read the reports, too.” He avoided looking at Sully, who was giving him the disapproving gaze. Sully’s apprehension was most likely due to one reason, and Jón was wondering if he could quell that unease. He sighed and set his forearms back on the table, hanging his head and shaking it before looking back up to the older man. “Look, Sully, if it’s your partner you’re worried about—”

“Nate’s not gonna hear a damn thing about this, you got that?” Sully’s voice was strict, threatening, as he set an elbow on the table and pointed at him, his facial features growing stern.

“We don’t even know if Laveaux’s involved.” Jón sat back, crossing his arms as he turned sideways in the booth, his upper body still partially turned towards the table. “It’s just a rumor.”

It did little to suppress Sully’s trepidation at the thought of Nathan being involved.

His mind was going over all of the methods of torture he had read in the reports. And in each scenario, his brain was forcing Nathan’s image into all of them.

Nathan with his throat slit and hung upside down as the blood slowly drained out of his body.

His arms broken, tongue ripped out and stomach sliced open.

His eyes gouged out as a stake pierced the back of his skull.

His body stripped, broken and beaten, weighted to a wooden wedge.

“—be simple,” Jón’s voice cut into his thoughts.

Sully shook his head and looked at him, not realizing he had zoned out, and tried to shake the thoughts that now invaded him. “What?” he asked, the bar coming back into focus.

Jón sighed at not being paid attention to and leaned back on the table. “I said having both you and your partner on this would make this fast and simple.”

The images flashed across his mind.

“No.” His response was flat, getting an annoyed look from the younger man. “Rumor or not, I’m not gonna risk my ass for some rock that probably doesn’t even exist.”

“Sully….”

“And the last thing I’m gonna do is get Nate involved and serve him up on a goddamn silver platter.”

“Look, at least come check it out with me. That’s all I’m asking.” Sully frowned. “If it exists, it exists, if it doesn’t, it doesn’t. At least help me find that out.”

They locked eyes, drowning out the people around them who began cheering loudly as England scored. Every ill thought was running through Sully’s head. He knew better than this – knew better than to get involved in something that was clearly over his head. Even if Laveaux being involved was merely a rumor, it was one he would rather not chance being true; but Jón’s eyes were speaking volumes and Sully had a feeling the young man would not be so willing to accept “no” as his final answer. If Jón could not enlist Sully’s help, he would attempt to go to Nathan, especially knowing Sully would not allow his partner to go alone.

In the end, he would get what he wanted.

Sully grunted and grabbed his beer.

“Fine.” A half smile crossed the younger man’s features at the answer and he sat back, taking a sip of his martini. “But that’s all we’re doing. I help you find out if the damn thing’s real and leave it at that.” Sully’s voice was final.

Jón nodded, setting his drink down. “That’s all I ask.”

His brain scolding him for agreeing, Sully shook his head as he puffed on his cigar, not bothering with the beer that he held in his other hand. He never did like hiding things from Nathan, but he knew better than to tell him. As far as the younger man knew, Sully would be in England, catching up with an old friend. And that was how it would stay.

 ---

Harry Flynn panted, his hand grasping at his right shoulder as he collapsed against an out-of-commission bulldozer. Blood ran down the side of his head, matting his hair and dripping down his face and neck, disappearing into the dark fabric of his shirt. His chest throbbed as he inhaled and exhaled, forcing his lungs to press up against bruised, possibly broken, ribs. The gunfire and shouting had disappeared behind him as he managed to lose the men chasing after him after ducking into an old construction site. He had barely escaped from the mines, having been caught and dragged by one of Laveaux’s men, which lead to a brawl between him and three others. His head had been slammed to the ground multiple times, leading him to the conclusion that he was given a concussion.

Initially, he attempted to find a way back into the main dig site, but as he was walking down an old tunnel, he was ambushed and forced to retreat.

Laveaux had Nathan, he already knew – it was whether or not he was still alive that could not discern. Given what he had already witness the woman do, having him killed immediately would be the merciful thing, but he knew better. He also knew that there would be no way for him to get back to Nathan in one piece, if at all, without help.

His group of allies was slowly diminishing.

Yet, while his circle was small, almost nonexistent, Nathan certainly had people who cared about him and his safety. It was finding those people that would present a problem.

He cringed as his shoulder throbbed with heated pain.

First thing first: he needed to get the bullet out of his shoulder and patch it up, otherwise, he would be useless.

Catching his breath, he pushed off of the bulldozer and began making his way back towards the jeep he and Nathan had arrived in before walking the rest of the way. The only issue was that, due to running and taking paths he was not familiar with, he was not quite sure where that was. If he was able to find his way back to the road, he could walk the road back to town. It was not nearly as far out as was anticipated. The mines had been shut down in the early nineteen-hundreds as the need for the minerals became less and less, and the population that once surrounded it slowly began to dissipate, expanding to towns and cities outwards. The closest town was a little over a mile from the shaft’s entrance, he just had to be certain he was walking in the correct direction.

Although the mines had once been used for the collection coal, the reason for it being abandoned altogether made sense given what laid beneath them. Most likely, the mine was shut down due to the high risk the stone exuded; someone had undoubtedly discovered it and the results were documented, albeit horribly, on the only piece of evidence he still held.

He cursed as he lost his footing on the dirt before catching his balance.

The old markers around the site were still present, though rotting, and he made his way towards them, the road lying beyond. His sight came in and out of focus and he had to force himself to stay coherent, his mind begging to go offline. He stumbled a few more times before making it to the markers and climbing over. A short laugh escaped him as his eyes landed on pavement.

In both directions, the road curved into nothingness, surrounded by thick woods.

Which direction was it?

Not taking much time to dwell on it, mostly due to the pain radiating down his skull, he started walking, the road at a slight downward slope.

The night air echoed around him as a breeze picked up, keeping him coherent enough to keep moving. Darkness tugged at the edges of his vision, the road swirling and becoming hazy, each step more difficult than the last. As his adrenaline died down, the severity of the situation was making itself apparent.

He had a concussion, he already knew. The blood loss from the bullet hole in shoulder was not aiding in his fatigue, nor did the pain radiating through his abdomen with each breath. His body was begging to fall into that sweet abyss that only the state of unconsciousness could bring, but he had to keep moving.

Just make it to town.

He never was one to play hero, but he had to patch himself up and find someone willing to go back into the mines with him to get Nathan. The longer Laveaux had him, the worse off he would be. As strong as the younger man was, just like everyone else, he had a breaking point; and if anyone could find it, it would be that witch of a woman. Even Harry had to admit to himself that he would not be able to withstand a fraction of what he knew Nathan could. It physically pained him to reach that conclusion, but given the scenario, he was glad for it.

It would give him more time.

It was after she forced the others to completely break before Laveaux had her victims killed.

He had seen the man she had her men flay. Watched as she had it performed slowly, peeling the skin off of their hands, arms and legs first before moving slowly up, making sure they stayed alive long enough to feel the pain – for the infections to set in. For their brain to try and ultimately fail at allowing them to pass out. The man had lived for nearly twenty-four hours before finally going into shock and dying. The reason she had him killed so slowly and violently? He had asked her if she was certain the stone was in England and not in another country of the United Kingdom. She took it as him challenging her authority.

It was seeing her cruelty and malevolency that day that had Harry begin thinking about how to back out. He could not up and leave. She had contracted him, offered him some of the power the stone held if he helped her find its location. He was the reason she had gotten as far as she had. If he left with any suspicion, she would have him hunted and killed; he had to go about slipping away without her noticing and without one of her men reporting back to her. The only men kept in her inner circle were those who would jump at her every command and they were few. It was the fear of retaliation that had the others stay and aid her. She made sure to make examples of anyone who even so much as hinted at disobeying her to keep them in check – ruling by terror worked.

It was horrifying.

After he managed to slip out undetected shortly after she had another follower chained to a post before being eaten alive by rabid dogs, he had no intention of going back; but the thought of the stone she hunted being real had him second guessing. If it was real, she would be a threat to anyone who would cross her or her followers that merely looked in her direction wrong. The first thing she would do is hunt down those who went against her, him included. It was selfish for him to go to Nathan for help, but he found his options limited, especially for those willing to aid him. He knew his old ally would help him – it was in his nature. Something that people had attempted to exploit in the past, but it was usually Sully who would talk him out of it.

_Shit_ , he cursed at himself.

It was his fault his partner was caught and it would be his fault if he were to die.

He had to go back.

He just had to make it to town, patch up and find someone to help him.

He just had to make it that far.

Lights started to dot his vision and he released an odd laugh in a breath, his steps slow. He was almost there. As the lights grew closer, his sight grew darker and his head pounded harder.

He started to hear voices, his vision blurring as he tried to discern their direction. He tried calling out, but his voice sounded so small in his ears, he wondered if he said anything at all. The ringing in his ears grew louder and he tried calling out again, his eyesight finally failing him. The last thing he remembered was the sound of ringing and darkness.   

 ---

Nathan lurched forward, his stomach contracting violently as one of the guards’ boots made contact, forcing the water in his stomach to be expelled. He coughed before more water came up, making its way out of both his mouth and nose. More coughing came from him before his head was grabbed again, forcing him in place as the two men that held his arms tightened their grips to where he was, once again, immobile. The funnel that had left his view came back and he tried to jerk away, his arms twisting in odd directions as he did. His nose was pinched shut, making him open his mouth when he had to take a breath, only for his jaw to be locked before the funnel was forced into his mouth and partially down his throat, causing him to begin gagging. Once they were satisfied with the positioning of the funnel in his throat, one of the men started pouring a bucket filled with water into it.

The fortune hunter began gasping and choking as water was forced into his mouth and down his throat, filling his stomach once more. His insides churned as more water entered, no end in sight.

It was the fifth time he had been forced to consume water until expulsion and his insides made sure he knew it. He began spitting it up before they were even finished, his eyes tearing up as his stomach contracted, forcing all of the contents back up both his throat and the funnel. It was taken out of his mouth as the grip on his head was released and water came up. His arms were finally released and he collapsed on his forearms, coughing and puking up as much of the water as his body would allow. He released an estranged cry as he spit, the nausea crashing over his body like waves as he trembled. 

A foot in his back pushed him down onto the dirt, making him dry heave from the pressure on his abdomen.

“That’s enough,” Laveaux’s calm and collected voice came out. The foot on his back relented. Nathan pushed himself back to his forearms, panting and dry heaving once more. The tip of a shoe underneath his chin made him to look up, his eyes landing on the calm demeanor of his abductor. She smiled at him. “See, Mr. Drake? That wasn’t so bad, now was it?” Another wave washed over him and he had to fight himself to keep it down. “Shame you soiled your shirt, though.”

Despite the situation, Nathan sneered. “No one told me to bring a change of clothes.”

She kicked his chin with the point of her shoe, making him grunt as his head fell back to the ground. The woman pressed her foot on the side of his head, pushing his ear and cheek into the dirt and rocks. “You’d be so much more attractive if it wasn’t for that mouth of yours. Perhaps I could stitch it shut for you. Or better yet.” His eyes shot open, his heart skipping as the head of a shovel stuck in the dirt merely centimeters from his face. “I could always just remove your jaw entirely.” His heart pounded as Laveaux removed both her foot from his head and the shovel from the ground. He chose not to press his luck and stayed in his current position as he heard the woman move around him and say something to one of her men.

Once again, his arms were grabbed and he was hoisted back to his knees, though his left leg only moved with the motions, having lost feeling before he was even brought down. He tried to move his head away when Laveaux lifted the shovel’s tip towards his face, his attempts failing as he felt the cold of the steel on his jaw. In a rough motion, Laveaux forced his jaw open with the blade, the corners of his mouth slicing open, causing blood to drip down his chin and neck.

He clamped his eyes shut, heart pounding viciously in his chest as his jaw was stretched to nearly cracking. He felt his chest quiver, his breath coming out of his nose in a shaking inhale and exhale, entire body tensing.

“I believe I have your attention, now,” Laveaux said. “This can go one of two ways, Mr. Drake. You continue to disrespect me”—she pushed the shovel forward, getting a small fearful shout in response—“or you drop the attitude. Have I made myself understood?” He tried to nod as best he could. “Good.” The shovel was removed. Nathan’s eyes shot opened as he stared at her, his eyebrows forming creases on his forehead as his breath continued to shake, his chest feeling as though it would explode.

The fear he had tried to ignore finally reared its ugly head as they made eye contact; her eyes were cold, callous. The shear disregard for any other lifeform was a mask she wore well and the realization of his situation set in. Blood dripped from his mouth and the sight of it seemed to gain an odd reaction out of his abductor. She grabbed his chin and dug her nails into his cheeks as she made him look up; he closed his eyes to avoid staring into her eyes any longer. She crouched down. He felt her face near his, her breath on his cheek before her tongue licked the side of his jaw, tasting his blood.

Vomit rose in the back of his throat, but he swallowed it down.

Laveaux released the grip on his chin and wiped her hand across the lower part of his face, smearing the red liquid on his skin and neck.

“Beautiful,” she said as she stood up and crossed her arms, as though inspecting a piece of art. She rolled her neck, causing it to crack before straightening herself up and pulling the front of her suit jacket down. She dropped the shovel directly in front of him; it clanged on the ground, his blood still on the blade. “Now, Mr. Drake, I hope you’ll forgive me, but I have things I must attend to.”

“Take your time.” He immediately regretting his comment when the man holding his right arm pulled it, causing it to strain as he felt it shift uncomfortably in its socket.

Despite the comment, Laveaux kept her calm demeanor, partnered with the unnatural smile. “If it’s my men you want to spend time with, you could have asked.” Nathan’s expression fell into a state of confusion, as though judging if her words meant what he believed them to. Seeing his expression, the woman’s smile grew. “You are a very attractive man, Mr. Nathan Drake. We all know it. It’d be selfish to keep you for myself.” He felt his heartrate increase once more.

“He – hey, come on, now,” he started, voice stuttering slightly as a nervous expression made itself to his features. “They’re – they’re really not my type, you know?”

“You and I both know that’s a lie, don’t we?” His chest tightened as she laughed again. Without even looking behind her, she spoke to her men in her native French, “Lamont, Georges, viens avec moi. Tous les autres,” she looked at Nathan, a devious look covering her face, “s'il vous plaît. Gardez-vous amuser.”

With that said, she turned on her heel, the two men she called out by name following behind her towards the elevator. He could only watch after her as both of his arms were forced straight out behind him before his upper body was pushed to the ground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now we're getting into the heart of things. (￣▽￣) It feels good working on this type of material again. I haven't done it in so long! (*ﾉωﾉ) Hope y'all are enjoying reading this as much as I am writing it♥ 
> 
> Thank you for your support!


	3. Sadism

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Flynn tries to think of a way to get back to Nathan, the younger fortune hunter finds out the true madness and sadism of his captor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry this took so long! m(__ __)m 
> 
> I had the entire first part of this chapter written on paper and in the pocket of my work jeans, but my *lovely* fiance forgot to check the pockets before doing laundry. You can imagine how that turned out. So I had to rewrite it from my memory...which has the span of a flea on meth.

**3**

**Sadism**

Sunlight flooded into a small doctor’s office, its rays landing on the hospital equipment as the electrocardiogram beeped steadily, monitoring the man it was hooked up to. Harry’s eyes clenched shut as the bright light hit him in the face, bringing him back to the state of consciousness. He turned his head in an attempt to block it out, but the calmness around him made him curious. Slowly, he opened his eyes, being introduced to a predominately white and cream-colored room. He sat up, glancing around. A white curtain on a cart was pushed against the wall next to the bed, the EKG machine against it as wires ran from it to the monitors attached to his bare chest. His right shoulder was wrapped and bandaged, his arm in a sling. A medical equipment table was pushed against the wall furthest from the door underneath a small window. A desk was at the foot of the bed against the wall; papers were scattered on top of it, a manila folder beneath them.

He looked down at his chest and grabbed the wires connected to him, pulling them off, the adhesive tugging at his skin.

For a moment, confusion washed over him.

Where was he and how did he get to hospital?

An image of Nathan on the ground of the mine, firing an AK at the mine’s opening ran across his mind.

_Shit!_

His heart raced and he looked around, eyes landing on his shirt folded on a chair by the door. Once he was out of the bed, he took to sling off and tossed it on the sheets, his shoulder aching with a sharp pain as he did. The discomfort in his head and neck began to return, coming back as a throbbing pain, which had him recall having his head slammed into the ground.

After he took his shirt and put it on, a groan escaped his throat. The shoulder of it was stiff with dried blood. The only saving grace was since the shirt was black, it was unnoticeable. Out of habit, he performed a check on his pockets. It was then he realized the small caliber pistol he had on his person was missing. Given the laws, it was most likely confiscated and he feared his presence had been reported to local law enforcement. He began going through the cabinet next to the desk, searching for any medications that would help his situation. He made sure to take some gauze and bandages that were sitting on the top shelf before sifting through the trial-sized pill bottles. Nothing but standard aspirin, but it was better than nothing. He took a few bottles into his pockets. Satisfied, he heard voices emanating from beyond the door. Not willing to take his chances with any medical personnel, his gaze was drawn to the window. It took a bit more than prying, but he was able to get it open after pushing the cart that was underneath it out of the way. Gripping the bottom of the frame, he hoisted himself up and out, shoes crunching on gravel when he landed outside.

He gripped his shoulder as he took in his surroundings. He was on the side of the building in a parking lot, only a few cars present. Had it not have been for the sign denoting the structure as a clinic, he doubted if it would have been known otherwise. Straightening himself so as not to draw suspicion, he left the lot to the adjacent sidewalk; as he rounded the corner to the front of the building, he saw a police car at the front door. Intuition told him that they had been called to talk to the armed man brought in during the night.

The sun poking its way through the graying clouds above told him it was after noon, though the exact time he was unsure. If it was that early, then Nathan had already been in Laveaux’s hands for over twelve hours. The thoughts of what could have been done to him in such an amount of time had the Englishman cringe inwardly, if the man was alive at all. Knowing how the woman worked, it would be unlikely for her to grant the intruder the sweet escape of death; the thought made his heart palpitate.

Laveaux was already privy to the existence of the famous Nathan Drake.

When she approached Harry with the offer of assisting her with finding and gathering the stone, she had even inquired if he knew the man. Not suspecting any the wiser, he had told her that Nathan was not on the same level as his intellect. She inquired about their past relationship and he had only said how they were “not on the best speaking terms” after a close encounter with death. While it was clear that she was curious, she chose not to press the matter, only asking that if it were to come down to it, if he would be willing to go to Drake in search of aid. Initially, he scoffed at the question, but found it odd how she appeared to be content with that knowledge. Seeing it through the eyes of hindsight, it was apparent she had known that if the time were to come, he would go to Nathan, if for no other reason than the search coming to a standstill.

It had him asking himself: how much did she already know about the two of them? Was it her objective all along to ensnare the younger treasure hunter or a mere coincidence that he hand-fed him to her?

He prayed it was not the latter.

So early in the afternoon, the streets and sidewalks picked up with the presence of the locals as he drew closer to the center of town. Couples and friends sat outside some of the eateries and cafes, making small talk over tea and biscuits, a few people glanced up as he walked by before returning to their conversations. He had to wonder if he looked as out of place as he knew he was. The presence of strangers was not uncommon in the town, what with having passed through it a few days ago prior to reaching the mine with Laveaux and her cohorts, though it was enough to draw unwanted attention if anyone were to recognize him.

His mind was running through methods of returning without gaining the knowledge of the guards. Nathan would be heavily guarded for that very reason, making it nigh impossible to get to him without arousing suspicion. Anyone in the town could be a scout, so attempting to recruit anyone to assist him bode ill – less it was someone already familiar with his partner and on good terms. Finding the first would prove to be easier than the latter given the younger man’s reputation.

His wandering led him outside of a pub.

Perfect place to scope and gain information.

As he walked in, he was introduced to a small bar with only a few stools and the specials written on a chalkboard above. Two booths were against the windows to his immediate right, both with people in the seats; a young couple in the furthest one and three people out to lunch in the other. There were three small tables on the floor, only one being occupied by a man with a pint of beer, a small plate of chips and a newspaper in his hands. At the bar, two of the stools had customers, both sitting next to each other as they talked about a football game between England and Germany the night prior, leaving three other stools available. Being the gentleman he was, Harry sat at the opposing end, leaving two empty seats between them.

The bartender, a rather bulky, middle-aged man who had been talking with the men, looked up at him before nodding his head to the customers and making his way to the other end.

“Afta’noon,” he said, accent a thick Scouse as he set his palms on the bar. “Wha’ can I get for ya?”

Harry’s head swam. The last thing he needed was alcohol, but it did sound good given what he had been through. If he had any intent of getting any information from anyone, seeming relaxed and uninvolved was his best bet. People had a tendency to ignore the quiet ones.

“Just a Guinness, please, mate.” Even his voice sounded tired.

The bartender patted his hand on the counter. “Comin’ righ’ up.” Harry set his elbows on the bar and began rubbing his temples, closing his eyes as he faced the bar, the headache becoming more apparent. He could hear a glass being picked up and the sound of the tap as the man poured his beer. “So wha’ brings ya down this way? We don’ usually get vis’tors here.”

Letting his left arm fall to the counter, he kept his right hand on his temple, not wanting the bartender to see the pain in caused him to move it to avoid any unwanted questions. “Just passing through.” The man nodded as he let the glass settle before filling it the rest of the way.

As he set the pint in front of him, he watched closely as Harry nodded his thanks, took the glass and a sip. Feeling the bartender’s eyes on him, Harry chose to act like he failed to notice, yet it proved futile when the man spoke to him once more. “Been seein’ lot o’ new faces pas’ few days. Lot o’ French.” Harry raised his eyebrows, pretending to find the information unexpected. “You travelin’ wit’em?”

Harry crooked his mouth and shrugged, taking another small drink of the beer. “Tend to keep to myself.”

The man nodded and stood back.

“Oy,” one of the other’s at the end of the bar called. “Leave tha man be, Isaac. You ain’t want no trouble, do ya?” he looked at Harry, eyes clearly swimming with the beginning stages of intoxication. To the question, the fortune hunter shook his head. “See? Just a man passin’ on through. Don’ you worry ‘bout ol’ Isaac.” They leaned sideways in their stool, holding up a pint of an amber-colored beer. “He’s always thinkin’ people are up ta somethin’. Ain’t that right?”

The bartender – Isaac – rolled his eyes before shrugging, partially admitting his fault. “Too many rumors gon’ ‘bout. Rather be safe than sorry any day o’ the week.” He looked back to Harry. “Sorry ‘bout tha’.”

Harry waved his hand in a dismissive manner. “No, no. I understand completely. Never know what to expect nowadays.” Isaac nodded in agreement while the man at the end of the bar knocked his free arm into his friend. “Though, if you don’t mind my asking: what rumors could have a man like you on edge?”

“Silly nothin’ is what they are,” the man laughed as he finished off what was left in his glass.

“I ‘eard the French passin’ through were gon’ up ta tha’ ol’ mine – lookin’ for gold or somethin’ like tha’,” Isaac said as he was at the opposite end of the bar, filling the other man’s glass with the same colored beer after motioning for another pint.

Harry raised his brows as he looked at his own glass. “Could always go there and see for yourself.” He took another drink, looking sideways at the bartender, who shook his head as he set the filled pint back in front of the other man.

“Mine’s too old,” the man sitting next to the intoxicated one spoke up. “Thing would right collapse if you stepped wrong.”

“They wan’ get themselves killed wanderin’ ‘round down there, they can ‘ave at it,” Isaac added as he began wiping down the countertop with a wet cloth from the sanitizing sink near the bar’s well.

Harry fell quiet, his mind tracing thoughts. If the locals knew about the mine and its condition, finding someone willing to go there without the impending danger from Laveaux’s crew would have already proved difficult. Knowing there might be maiming or death involved and no one would take the risk. He was going to have to travel out further, try to find a contact, but every hour was precious. Every hour was another one his partner would be closer to death. The odds of him returning alone were starting to seem higher and higher the more he was able to think. If it was only one of Nathan’s legs that were immobile, they would have a fighting chance as getting out by themselves; however, knowing his former client, Nathan would be in no condition to move, let alone fight if need be, even with a weapon.

He needed help.

“So I take it no one wants to go down there and take a peek?” Harry chuckled as the men around him laughed.

“Not ready ta die tha’ early in life!” the drunken man cackled as he nearly spilled his glass.

Despite his calm exterior, inwardly, Harry could feel his heart racing. He did his best to finish off his drink quickly without seeming impolite before thanking the bartender and crew. Luck struck when the drunken man took care of his payment, telling him he would have to come back later that evening, and he made his way towards the door. As he left, he could feel the eyes of the man who had been reading the paper on him.

Once outside, he ran his hands through his hair and let them sit on the back of his neck, gazing up at the clouding sky above, the sun no longer visible. His mind traced through what methods he could come up with to go back, each one ending with being captured and killed. Unlike his partner, he was never the one to act first and ask questions later, or never being the case with Nathan Drake. One of the multitude of thoughts which ran across his head was asking Chloe Fazier for assistance. While he was certain she would be willing to help Nathan, tracking her down was easier said than done, and that would take time – too much time. It had been difficult enough finding Nathan and the young man was nowhere near as elusive as their female counterpart.

The idea flittered away as soon as it had come.

He released an audible groan as he dropped his arms, his right sending a sharp pang down his shoulder. He looked around in an attempt to ground his thoughts and come up with a plan with a fairly decent end result. Each thought ended with him seeing himself getting shot.

He started walking down the sidewalk, avoiding anyone’s gaze as he lost himself in thought. Subconsciously, he maneuvered well enough, his ears drowning out the bustle of the town and the constant mindless chatter of the locals. As he kept walking aimlessly about, he shifted his upper body sideways as he passed by two men, but when his shoulder slammed into one of theirs, it jerked him out of thought. Both he and the man turned to look at each, not even getting out a word of a half-assed apology before both of their expressions switched.

“Well, this is too weird to be a coincidence,” the voice of Victor Sullivan came out as the older man crossed his arms over his chest, the two men locking eyes.

 ---

Nathan groaned as he used his right forearm to crawl forward, dragging his left leg behind him. Wet and dried fluids clung to his face and clothes, the taste being one he refused to admit to himself he had become acquainted with. Laughter echoed around him as a boot made hard contact between his shoulder blades, pushing him onto the ground. His entire body throbbed; his throat was coarse and the optimism he had latched onto was slowly beginning to dwindle. His attempt to escape earlier that morning left him with a dislocated shoulder, a few cracked ribs, and a bruised and bloody face. When Laveaux had her Changing of the Guard, he thought he had the perfect opportunity to disappear amongst the disarray as everyone’s attention was directed elsewhere. He had nearly made it to the elevator before being caught and dragged to the ground. His injured leg did not allow him to move quickly enough into hiding when the elevator descended and he was spotted.

His reward for his efforts was several kicks from one of the guards who worked closely with Laveaux, and his head being slammed into the ground a few times by another guard who became angered over one of Nathan’s snide remarks. When he fought back, his left arm was twisted behind him until he felt it crack, the ball coming out of its socket.

Afterwards, he was made to wait at the bottom of the elevator as Laveaux came down with two armed guards. When she saw the group at the end, she was told about his escape attempt; however, instead of commending their efforts, she demanded to know who had been the ones responsible for beating him – more-so, the one who had slammed his head to the ground. She had no qualms with the injuries his body had sustained, but his face appeared to be something she took personally. Once the guard responsible came forward, Laveaux stepped in front of him. She reached behind her and, brandishing a 9mm pistol, shoved the barrel of the gun into the man’s mouth, pressed flesh against the inside of his cheek. She made the comment “since looks don’t matter,” and fired the weapon, shooting a hole through the man’s cheek. 

Her look was that of disgust as she told him to “go clean up” as she used a handkerchief from an inner pocket of her suit jacket to wipe the blood and bits of skin off of her handgun. Then she apologized to Nathan for her guard’s “horrible misconduct.”

Coming from the same woman who was willing to slice his jaw off with a coal shovel the night prior, Nathan found her change in demeanor disturbing and was unable to respond. When he said nothing, her demeanor changed once again and she brought her hand back, backhanding him across the face, accusing him of being rude and ungrateful. She then gave her men the order of “teaching him some manners” and got back onto the elevator, continuing her descent into the shafts below with the same two armed guards.

He stifled a shout as his injured arm was gripped and he was pulled from the ground to his knees. Before he had a chance to react, his head was grabbed and a foreign object was roughly shoved into his mouth. He gagged as it passed his uvula to his throat, bile rising to his esophagus. He pushed against the man’s hip with his right hand, but the other guard that was watching him grabbed it and straightened it out, giving the other more leverage.

It was not much longer before the guard’s thrusts increased in speed and the grip on his head tightened. His initial response was to pull back when warm liquid filled his throat, but the man’s grip was too firm. After one last shove, the man pulled out, leaving Nathan to cough and sputter, white semen dripping down his chin. He spit out the excess, a bitter taste resting on the back of his tongue.

His body collapsed when he was released, his good arm barely catching him in time. He set his forehead on his forearm as he panted and spit again, his throat feeling sore and saliva thick. Fatigue tugged at the corners of his eyes, but he had to force them back open. If he eluded to being tired even in the slightest, it was back to the water curing. As much as it pained him to admit it, he would prefer his current state, rather than the water torture. His insides still twisted and turned from the last time he was subjected to it in the late morning. When he started to nod off, he was dragged back up to the secluded area and forced to consume water until it came back out. After a few rounds, he was brought back down, given no reprieve.

According to what he overheard the guards talking about, it was under Laveaux’s orders to ensure he did not fall asleep, and to do whatever means was necessary if he began to show signs of exhaustion.

It was a constant barrage between the two.

“Come on,” he groaned as he was grabbed under his upper arm. “Can’t you give a guy a break?”

“ _Se lever!_ ” the man said as the other did the same to his other arm. He was pulled to his feet, his body struggling to stay upright as the two men began walking him from the site towards the shaft which led back to the elevator.

“I wasn’t sleeping. I’m not even tired,” he said frantically, his stomach dropping, knowing what was soon to come. “Look, I’m awake. Ready to go.”

The butt end of a gun hit him in the back of the head.

“Shut up and move,” the same guard said, accent thick.

“Yeah, about that. It’d be a lot easier if some asshole hadn’t shot me in the leg.” The response he received was another hit to the back of his head.

As he was escorted down the shaft, his mind weighed his odds if he were to attempt attacking one of the three guards. It was the man behind him with his weapon already drawn. If he were to go after one of the two holding him, the other would fire on him before he would have a chance to make a grab for it. He was in no condition to run, a weapon being his only out.

His thoughts ended when the lit elevator site came into view.

Guards in excavation gear were crowded around the side of the elevator shaft; Nathan’s heartrate increased when he heard Laveaux’s voice coming from the same area.

He was dragged towards the group, which could not have been more than eight or nine.

He caught the tail end of the conversation.

“—under another level. I expect it intact, understood?” The crowed echoed with affirmation.

A few of the guards moved off to the side as the three escorting Nathan entered the circle. When he was with a few feet of the black-haired woman, the man holding his dislocated arm dropped it and stepped back, leaving the other to set him down, having the young man on his knees.

“Mr. Drake, I see you still have your pants on,” she said, not even glancing at him as she looked over papers attached to a clipboard. Nathan sneered, responding with a fake laugh. “Have you not been entertaining my men as we agreed?” She let the papers fall on top of each other, now looking at him with a calm expression, waiting for him to answer.

“I thought I was doing a pretty good job, honestly.”

A sharp pang shot through his chest when she smiled with a throaty laugh – that same dark smile that sent a chill down his spine.

She turned her attention to the men who brought him in. “ _Pourquoi est-il encore habillé?_ ” she demanded in her native French., vocals stern.

“ _Mais madame_ ,” the guard to his left spoke as he made hand gestures in an attempt to explain.

“ _Quelle?_ Because he has a dick?” she asked angrily, her eyes darkening the way they had the night before. “ _Bien_.” She shoved the clipboard she had been holding into the hands of a stockier man next to her. _“Si c'est le problème_.” She walked up to the guard and extracted a knife he had attached to his hip, partially in the pocket of his tan-colored trousers. The guard tensed, but when she walked by him, his physical relaxation was apparent. She crouched down in front of Nathan. Without making eye contact, she pushed him back, causing him to land on his back and tailbone. Eyes not trailing from the knife, Nathan made a half-hearted to attempt to drag himself backwards, but was unable to do so when she placed her hand on his right knee, pushing on it with enough force to make it bend the wrong direction. In one fast movement, shoved the knife into the side of his leg and sliced downwards.

The scream Nathan released bounced off of the mine’s walls and he immediately curled to the side, holding his leg as Laveaux stood up and faced her guards. Blood poured out of the wound, staining his jeans and forming a pool on the dirt.

“ _Mieux?_ ” She threw the knife back to the guard. All of them seemed ill at ease, expressions wide in confusion. “ _Tu_ ”—she pointed to one of them, a medium-build man standing off to the left—“ _fais le_.”

They glanced down to the bleeding treasure hunter and back to Laveaux. “ _Madame, je_ —”

Before he could continue, Laveaux took out her pistol and shot him, the bullet piercing his skull as his body collapsed to the ground. Everyone tensed with the exception of those the woman was closest to. “ _Tu_ ,” she motioned with her gun to a smaller guard to her right, then to Nathan.

The man nodded and approached Nathan, albeit hesitantly. Slowly, he knelt down in front of him, his facial expression confused and full of distress. He undid his belt and the zipper to his pants, extracting his length. When he placed his hand on Nathan’s side, the young fortune seeker looked at him, his face and eyes red as he shook his head.

“Come on,” he said in an exhale, is breath quick. “Don’t – don’t. We can talk this out, right?”

Inaudibly, the man mouthed “I’m sorry” before pressing the tip of his shaft into the wound. As he slowly pushed himself into the wound, Nathan began yelling and pushing against him, immense pain shooting through his leg and hip. The muscle that was exposed was torn as the man’s length tore into him. “Stop! Stop!!” he yelled out, hitting the man with his only working arm, though it seemed little to dissuade him.

As the guard forced his length completely into the wound, stars of white, hot pain shot across Nathan’s vision as he shouted obscenities and pleas. Agony radiated throughout his lower body and to the bottom of his rib cage as the other began to pull in and out at a steady pace, their shaft hardening from the stimulation. His vision came in and out of focus, but when he was able to see the similar-sized guard’s face, it was overcome with fear and remorse.

Nathan’s hand had gone from trying to force the guard away to his fingernails digging into the man’s arm hard enough to draw blood. He went between clawing at the man’s arm to digging at the ground, desperate to find some form of relief as the man’s steady pace began to hasten. Even in his state, Nathan knew the man was forcing himself to ejaculate, most likely to escape the wrath of the woman standing taught behind him. When the guard was close, he went to pull out, but the voice of Laveaux cut through the air like an axe.

“No. Inside.”

The man paused for a moment, staring down at the young man, who was red in the face with his features creased in agonizing pain. Seeming to question his surroundings, the man forwent whatever inside him was telling him not to and he continued, getting more and more screams and shouts from the man underneath him. Finally, the man’s pace increased before he tensed, releasing his seed into the open wound. He extracted his length the moment he was finished, blood coating it and the front of his pants as he leaned back, fixed himself and stood up. Nathan had moved into the fetal position, water falling from his eyes into the dirt as he held his leg with his right hand. The actions of what had conspired fully set in and his stomach twisted.

Nothing but bile came out and he fully collapsed, panting in a mixture of pained gasps and cried.

Laveaux stared down at him, the corners of her mouth curled into a sadistic smirk.

She lifted her leg and put the sole of her foot on the side of Nathan’s head, twisting her ankle to force his head into the ground. “What a pathetic excuse for a man,” she said in reference to his tear-strewn face. “No better than a dog.” She removed her heel from his head and went to turn away, but not before slamming the pointed heel of her shoe into his side, puncturing the skin between his ribs. He released another yell as she pulled it out and stepped over him. “Take him to site four,” she ordered the guard she had made penetrate Nathan’s leg and a bulkier guard who had not seemed phased over what had occurred. She walked back to the man she had given the clipboard to and he handed to her. “ _Merci, Enzo_.”

As the two guards lifted Nathan to his feet and began to drag him to the elevator, he heard Laveaux mention Harry’s name, though he could not say as to why, the woman speaking to her men in French.

His head bobbed as he felt the elevator begin to descend, fatigue washing over his mind and body. The last thoughts he could remember were whether or not Flynn would come back, and that he should have left some form of clue as to his location for Sully, less he were to die in the mine alone.


	4. Unlikely Salvation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not all of the guards seem to be on board with Laveaux's actions. It's the calm before the storm when one decides to help out the wounded treasure hunter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am SO sorry this took so long! m(__ __)m
> 
> I had this massive case of writer's block.ヾ( ￣O￣)ツ
> 
> Like...I knew exactly what I wanted to do, but I just couldn't seem to get it from my head onto paper. __φ(．．;) ...or computer, in this case. 
> 
> This chapter gets pretty heavy, though I doubt anyone's complaining. (￣ω￣)

** 4 **

**Unlikely Salvation**

_Drip, drip, drip_.

The sound of water echoed deep in the mine. That and the low voices speaking in French were the only things to keep Nathan’s mind occupied. The gash with its gaping hole in his right leg had overtaken the pain from the bullet wound in his left, the waves of pain alternating between throbbing and stabbing. His entire body ached and the fatigue he had been trying to ignore was gnawing at him, begging to allow him to slip into darkness. A dull ache had begun to form at the base of his skull and it was slowly starting to radiate upwards, causing even the low lighting in the cut off section of the mine to hurt his eyes.

The same two guards who had escorted him to the dead end site were leaning against the chain-linked fence that was blocking off the hazardous sections of the coalmine, speaking in their native tongues as they barely paid any heed to the young man in their presence. Every so often, they would make sure he was still awake. Any time it even appeared that Nathan was nodding off, one of them would come over and kick him to draw him back to coherency. Given what he had been put through since he was taken captive, not being put through any more physical torture was something he was silently thankful for.

He would rather the occasional kick or shout to keep him up.

Recalling what Laveaux had her man do to his leg, and seeing the remorse painted on the guard’s face, it was likely that the two guards monitoring him believed their boss had gone too far. He wondered if it was something they were discussing, trying to pick up on key words of what little French he did know, but he soon gave up on that endeavor when his brain kept drifting.

Instead, his mind drifted off to the night prior when Harry Flynn had shown up, asking for his help and the sincerity in his voice and mannerisms. It had him questioning if his old partner was being honest or setting him up, remembering when the man had been the reason he was locked in a Turkish prison for three months. Harry had made several attempts on his life when he was working with Lazarevic, between shooting him and calling for his head when he managed to escape. Yet, when Harry requested his assistance with Laveaux, he seemed different – his overall being came off different, though Nathan could not place why. It was the reason he agreed to help the Englishman in the first place.

But there was still the thought in the back of his mind that regretted agreeing.

Or at least he regretted not leaving anything for Sully to go off of in case something had gone wrong.  

He was going to die here, unless he could find a way out.

He visibly shivered when a surge of cold washed over him, his right leg sending a shooting pain throughout the right side of his body. Trying to sit up, he stifled a grunt as he pulled himself to sit with his back against the stone wall. The energy used to move had him panting, his heart pounding hard in his chest. He tried to look at the stab wound in his leg, but the blood that covered his jeans obstructed his view. Gripping the tear, he pulled it, ripping his jeans to fully expose the wound.

He could see the exposed cartilage and muscle, along with the hole piercing through all of it from where the man’s penis had penetrated. The tissue around the injury was a dark red, signaling the onset of an infection. The discoloration was even apparent beneath the still fresh and dried blood. It had him question how the bullet wound in his left leg looked, but he could not bring himself to look.

Radio static cut through the air from the open microphones the two guards wore.

“ _J'ai besoin de tous les hommes disponibles sur le site 9_ ,” Laveaux’s voice came over the frequency. “ _I repeat_ _:_ _I need all available men to site 9._ ”

The two guards exchanged looks. They began conversing in French, their eyes on Nathan. From what the fortune hunter could gather, they were discussing who would stay with him. He found himself hoping it was the guard who had penetrated his leg, given the guilt he had seen the man experience during his actions, whereas the other guard had seemed unfazed. Luck appeared to be on his side when the bulkier guard relented and began walking towards the site’s exit; however, before he left, he made sure to give another swift kick to Nathan, although the young man was clearly coherent.

He shifted to his side before waving with his good arm, calling out as the man left, “Merci, asshole,” he groaned. He dropped his arm to his dislocated shoulder, grasping it as a sharp pain shot through it. He listened as the guard’s footsteps faded down the shaft that led to a different site. A grunt escaped from his throat as he moved back to have his back pressed against the wall, collapsing in a rush of pants as his lungs pressed against his injured chest plate and ribs. Once the guard’s footsteps were out of hearing range, a moment passed before the other guard, who was roughly Nathan’s build, walked to the shaft and peered down. Seeming satisfied with whatever he was looking for, he walked over to Nathan, who tensed subconsciously, attempting to straighten his back, as though to make himself appear less vulnerable.

Yet, instead of bringing his foot down on him as expected, the man crouched down in front of him and unhooked his canteen from his belt. He held it out in front of him, offering it to his injured captive. “ _Voici. Boire_.” Nathan eyed him, expression apprehensive before he brought his arm up and took it. He uncorked the cap and brought it to his lips, drinking the fresh water that his body was desperately needing. He barely took a breath before taking a few more drinks and bringing the canteen down, handing it back to the guard.

“Merci,” he said, the guard nodding in response.

He watched Nathan as he hooked his canteen back to his belt, the young man’s face cringing as he shifted. “ _Votre épaule_ ,” he said, motioning to Nathan’s shoulder. “ _Je peux le réparer_.” He put his fist into his palm, indicating the socket.

From reflex, Nathan held his shoulder, eyebrows creased in confusion. “My shoulder?” he asked, to which the man nodded and repeated his motion. “Pop it back into place…,” he trailed out, wondering if the man could understand him at all. Either way, the guard did not give him an option and leaned forward, setting his hand on Nathan’s collarbone and gripping the back of his shoulder with the other.

“ _Un, deaux, trois!_ ” on three, the man pushed from both sides.

Nathan shouted an obscenity as he felt and heard his shoulder crack as the socket slipped back into place. The guard leaned back as Nathan grabbed his shoulder and held his arm to his chest, releasing a string of cusswords. After a moment of trying to calm himself and relax, he was able to sit back up, his hand still on his now-in-place shoulder. He inhaled and exhaled a few deep breaths, trying to ground himself, before bringing his attention back to the guard, who seemed content with having helped him in some way. As the man glanced over his shoulder to ensure no one was returning, Nathan thanked him in his Americanized French. “Do you speak any English?” he asked, breath shallow.

The guard brought his attention back to him, sitting back on his heels. “Little,” he responded, accent thick. “I speak little English.” His English was slow, but Nathan found himself feeling more at ease with the knowledge, as though a spark lit back up that he would be able to get out of the situation yet.

“Name. What is your name?”

“Christophe. You are Nathan Drake, _oui?_ ”

Another grunt from the pit of his throat as a sharp pain shot through his shoulder and leg. “Y-yeah,” he stuttered as he nodded. “Laveaux, why do you help her?” At the mention of her name, the guard – Christophe – visibly tensed and looked behind him, as though she would appear at the mention of her name. “You’re scared of her,” he muttered, though it was mainly to himself, whereas it was apparent Christophe did not understand him. The images of the guard she shot in the mouth came back into his mind, along with her emotionless eyes and callous laugh. As long as she had enough men to stand with her without question, ruling through terror with the rest came easy.

He saw the man staring at the slice on his leg, expression apologetic.

However, as he was about to speak, the sound of boots coming down the narrow shaft rang out.

Apprehension washed over his face and he looked to Nathan, whispering, “ _Pardon_ ,” before moving forward to grabbing the collar of his shirt. He shoved him hard against the wall, slamming his back and shoulders against the rocks and causing him to release a loud shout as pain rounded throughout his body. Nathan grabbed his forearms, trying to pull him off, but Christophe pulled his right forearm away and pressed it against his neck, cutting off his air. Even with the soreness with his left arm, Nathan began pushing up on the other man’s chin with the palm of his hand.

It was only a moment before another’s voice echoed around them.

“ _Oi, Christophe! Aller au site 9! Commandes de Laveaux!_ ” Nathan gasped for breath as Christophe dropped his arm and turned around to look at the speaker. It was the man who had been standing next to Laveaux the last time Nathan had encountered her: Enzo. The man stopped short when he saw Nathan red in the face, sucking in breath after breath as Christophe still had him by the collar of his shirt. A smirk broke across Enzo’s face and he chuckled. “ _Ne tuez pas le gars. Laissez certains pour nous,_ ” he said, crossing his arms over his chest.

Christophe looked back to Nathan and nodded before pushing off from him and standing up. Just before he turned to leave, he gave a harsh kick to Nathan’s stomach, making the young man fall to the side and curl his arms around his abdomen. He heard the two men trade off speech in French before the man who had helped him disappeared down the shaft.

After he was gone, Enzo looked down at Nathan, his lips still curled into a smirk. Bringing his foot up, he put it on Nathan’s shoulder and made him turn to face him. “Oh, I’m gonna have fun with you.”

“I’d rather you didn’t,” Nathan jested uneasily. The anxiety that had left him came flooding back, his heart beating viciously in his chest as Nathan made eye contact with the burly man above him.

Enzo dropped to a crouch, his arms on his knees as he peered into the other’s face. He snickered at seeing the apprehension written across Nathan’s features, despite the younger man’s attempts to mask it. He reached his hand out and grasped Nathan’s chin, moving his head as though he was inspecting him. “You think you’re strong. How about we put that to the test?”

A nervous laugh escaped his throat. “Can’t we just– SHIT!” he yelled out as the man released his grip and dug his fingers into the gaping wound on his right leg. From reflex, he was able to twist his body and elbow Enzo in the jaw, making him stop and jerk to the side. Nathan grabbed at his leg, fresh blood beginning to trail back out onto the ground.

Unwanted wheezes came from his throat in his attempt to force himself to not focus on the pain; but it was short lived when Enzo grabbed his ankle and dragged him away from the wall. He tried to dig into the soil, but the man pulled him along the ground with little effort. After dragging him to the fence, Enzo let go, leaving Nathan to scramble against the chain-linked fencing, not wanting to have his back turned to the man. The man knelt down in front of him, his leg between Nathan’s, and put his hand underneath the ripped fabric of the smaller man’s jeans. The wound stung when the salt of skin touched it.

“I see you’ve made it easier for me,” Enzo commented as he began tearing the fabric to the seam as he ran his hand towards Nathan’s inner thigh.

Nathan went to grab his wrist, but Enzo caught him at the wrist and pressed his arm against the fence, leaning in as he tore Nathan’s jeans up the seam towards his groin. Nathan could only push against his shoulder with his free arm, but it did nothing to dissuade him as the inseam of his pants was split apart. Taking his hand back, Enzo took out a bowie knife; Nathan felt his heart skip at the sight. However, instead of slicing him, Enzo used the blade to cut the leg of the fortune hunter’s briefs before putting the knife back and ripping the shorts, exposing him.

“Stop!” Nathan got out, pushing against the larger man as Enzo lifted his leg, making blood trickle down towards his groin.

A yell came from him when Enzo pushed his index and middle finger into the wound, flashes of light shooting across his vision.

“Unless you want me to fuck this, too, stop fighting.” Nathan heaved as he felt the other’s fingers press in deeper, tears of pain forming on the edges of his ducts. Even with the white flashing across his eyes, he managed to nod, his breath shallow. Enzo removed his fingers and Nathan dropped his arm while sharp pains coursed through his lower body and side. The moment the young man was not pushing against him, Enzo shoved Nathan’s knees to his chest and rammed into him, burying the whole of his length into the treasure hunter and receiving an unsuspecting shout.

Nathan’s initial reaction was to fight, but Enzo’s grip on his thigh kept him grounded, not wanting to go through the same thing as before.

The blood that had dripped to his bottom gave some form of lubricant as Enzo pushed into him with hard thrusts, the size of his cock splitting his cavity. Enzo pushed Nathan’s knees further, causing the Nathan to yell as it gave the larger man more leverage to get inside him, the entirety of his length pressing against his prostate. Despite the pain, despite the situation, the consistent stimulation given to his prostate made him hard.

He clamped his eyes shut, trying to will it away as pain began mounting in his lower abdomen.

“ _Merde_ ,” Enzo grunted as he began slowing his thrusts and looking down, watching himself come in and out of Nathan’s tight sphincter. “So fucking tight,” he muttered as he pushed completely inside, garnering a shout from the man beneath him. After a few more slow paces, Enzo resumed slamming into him, each time getting a pained shout or pant as a response.

It was not long before his drives became so fast and hard that Nathan thought he was going to break and his stomach would explode. After a throated groan, Enzo came, releasing his seed deep inside the young man. He pushed in and out a few more times, making sure he buried his semen into Nathan’s anal cavity before he took himself out, a small amount trailing out. When he finally released Nathan’s legs, Nathan collapsed, his breath rigid as the pressure in his stomach failed to fade, even though the action had ceased.

He could feel the liquid seeping out of him and the thought made him nauseous, but he willed it away.

“Hope you’re not tired,” Enzo said mockingly as he grabbed Nathan’s semi-erection. “I’m far from done.”

 ---

“So you’re trynna get me to believe that you’d be willing to risk your ass going back?” Victor Sullivan said in a disbelieving, sarcastic tone. “You and your buddy Lazarevic already tried to kill him once, so why the hell should I believe a goddamn thing out of your mouth?” 

“Nearly dying tends to change a man, Victor,” Harry said, his hand grabbing his shoulder form where Sully had previously held him.  

When Harry and Sully had, quite literally, run into each other, Harry had no idea how to go about explaining the situation and Sully had no intention of hearing him out. When Harry told him that it involved Nathan, the usual playful demeanor the older man carried vanished and he grabbed Harry by his shoulder and pushed him against the wall of a building, the same shoulder that had the still-healing bullet wound. The two of them retired to an alleyway between two restaurants where Sully demanded information: why was Harry Flynn involved with Alessa Laveaux and how did Nathan get tangled into it.

The explanation Sully received did little to ease his qualms.

“Look, you can believe me or not, but the fact is that Nate is down there right at this moment, and I can’t very well get to him on my own.”

“Goddamn it,” Sully cursed, his mind already attempting to form a rescue mission. He did not want Nathan involved just at the mere thought of Laveaux being involved. Knowing it was indeed that sadistic witch of woman, and that she had his partner, Sully’s mind was teetering on the edge of reason.

An image of Nathan with a shovel dug into his abdomen ran through his head.

He had to calm down.

He would get nowhere if he allowed emotions to rule his judgement. It would be a surefire way to get Nathan killed.

“Why in the damn hell would you agree to work for that woman in the first place?” Sully asked, though he was more or less talking to himself.

Despite this, Harry answered. “She pays well.” Sully frowned. “Trust me, mate. If I knew half of what she did, I wouldn’t have agreed to help her.”

“Yeah. You’ve got great taste in judgement,” the older man rolled his eyes.

“Had taste in Nate, so you've got a point there.” Sully furrowed his eyebrows at the comment, but quickly dismissed it. “I can get us to the mine, but it’s not like we can just waltz in the front door.”

Sully crossed his arms. “Then we go in the back way. I’m working with a guy that says he knows the layout. He can get us in and out, hopefully without being spotted.”

Harry nodded and followed after the older man as he began walking out of the alley.

They did not receive many looks as they came out, only a few people glancing at seeing two grown men leaving a secluded area. They weaved their way through the crowded sidewalk as Harry made sure to stay a half-step behind Nathan’s mentor. The street they were on was familiar to him, though where Sully was headed, he could not fathom to guess. Either way, the people that did pay attention to them looked at them like the outsiders they clearly were. It was a small town – one Harry Flynn had heard of, but never felt the need to travel to until recent events.

A small pub was what they came up to.

Inside was dimly lit, with booths that lined the walls on both sides and a small, private room to each side of the door. Posters for local venues were scattered on the inside wall of the entrance. As they walked into the main dining room, the bartender behind the counter greeted them, his hands busy polishing a glass as few people sat at the bar. Sully waved to him while Harry nodded. They walked passed the bar and the tables on the floor, moving to a small enclosure towards the back. It was blocked off by a dark green curtain. Sully ducked inside, Harry behind him with little hesitation.

There was only one booth in the room, the mahogany wood lined with dark green cushions. A glass on a coaster still had ice in it, signaling that someone had stepped out only a few moments prior. Sully took a seat, not even having to motion before Harry did the same.

“So this friend of yours,” Harry started as he leaned back in the booth. “Does the bugger have a name?”

Sully chuckled as he took out his pack from his pants pocket, taking out a cigar. He lit it before responding. “Jón.” Harry stared at him, waiting for the rest of the name. The other man released a string of smoke. “Jón Bonnet.”

Harry furrowed his brow, the name striking a familiar chord. He tried to place the name, knowing he had heard it before. As he searched his memory banks, he could feel Sully’s eyes on him, curiosity covering his own features. Suddenly, Harry’s eyes lit up and he jerked his head towards the other. “Wait a minute—”

Just as he was about to recall why the name sounded so familiar, the curtain shifted, drawing both of their attentions.

“What took so long?” Jón asked as his eyes landed on Sully. His eyes went to Harry and both men’s expressions changed, appearing to recognize each other.

Harry immediately got to his feet, his entire demeanor become hostile.

“What the bloody hell are you doing here?” he demanded, his jaw clenched.

“I could ask you the same damn thing,” Jón retorted, is voice equally stern.

Sully’s eyes bounced between them. Not bothering to stand up, he leaned forward on the table, staring up at them. “Either one of you two wanna fill me in here?”

Jón’s eyes became dark as he scoffed, Harry’s shoulders squaring up.

“Jón Bonnet?” Harry asked, though it ended in more of a statement, as he made a quick glance to Sully. Harry and Jón locked eyes, silently challenging each other. Without breaking their gaze, and in a threatening tone, Harry came out with; “This son-of-a-bitch is Laveaux’s right hand man.”


	5. Clockwork Hour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pushing himself to the brink, Nathan risks everything in an attempt to escape.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am SO sorry this took so long! m(__ __)m
> 
> We've been moving into a house from an apartment, so I have been waaaaaay busy in my personal life.  
> I've worked on this on paper when I have down time at work, but getting a chance to transpose it to the computer has not been easy. ╰(▔∀▔)╯
> 
> Initially, this chapter was going to be longer, but I realized that, for it to flow how I want, I had to split it up.  
> This chapter was really difficult to work on, because trying to keep Nate in character, while simultaneously putting him through immense torture and sleep deprivation, has not been easy. And don't even get me started on trying to do Sully and Flynn! (ง ื▿ ื)ว
> 
> I need to go watch something colorful and fun after this. (￣︿￣)

** 5 **

**Clockwork Hour**

 

Hostility rose as the two European men held eye contact, flares of anger between them. Sully furrowed his brows, attempting to make sense of Harry Flynn’s accusation, wanting to not believe his old comrade would sink so low; however, seeing Jón’s reaction had him questioning everything he thought he knew. The young man’s eyes were filled with nothing but unadulterated rage, something he had never witness from the old contact, but people change, and he was no stranger to being double-crossed or to being the one doing the double-cross.

“So what exactly were you trying to do? The bitch can’t find a damn rock, so you had to con someone else into helping?”

“Who the hell do you think you’re trying to fool?!” Jón shot back, his shoulders squaring. “Or did you fail to mention how you’re the reason she’s here in the first place?”

“Someone wanna fill me in over here?” Sully asked, aggravation clear in his tone.

The two younger men failed to answer, keeping their gazes locked as silence ensued.

It only drove Sully further into irritation.

“Either someone tells me what the hell is going on, or I’m out.”

Harry glanced at him before pulling his attention right back to the fair-haired man in front of him. “I’m assuming this bastard hasn’t even mentioned he works for Laveaux, has he?”

A thick air filled the room as Sully absorbed the information.

He had figured Jón had been lying about something or other, and it had crossed his mind that the other knew more information than he was letting on, but the accusation was pissing him off. There was the off chance that the reason the Frenchman had lied to him was because Jón knew he would refuse to help if Sully knew for a fact Laveaux was involved; but then why involve the older man at all?

The only other explanation was….

“Look,” Sully cut in. “I don’t give a good goddamn who’s worked for whom or any of that bullshit. All I care about is getting down there.”

Jón’s expression changed at Sully’s sudden sense in urgency, something he had lacked since his assistance was employed. His eyes darted between the two men, his brow line creasing. With his gaze on Harry, his anger-fueled appearance dropped.

“She has your partner, doesn’t she, Victor?” The silence that followed answered his question. In an instant, his entire demeanor switched. The tension he had been holding melted away and he dropped his shoulders as he released a short chuckle. “Oh-ho, this is great.” A smile broke across his face. “You have no idea how much trouble you just saved me,” he said, staring at Harry. The brown-haired male’s face fell into a state of confusion. “She was right. You led him right to her, didn’t you?”

The perplexity that had crossed Sully finally faded and was replaced by anxiety and anger. In a moment, he was on his feet, but was met by a .45 aimed at his chest. “So this was your Master Plan?” he asked in a sarcastic tone, his voice calm despite his emotional conflict. “Use me to bait Nathan?”

Jón shrugged. “It would’ve worked. Tell me I’m wrong.” Sully frowned. “Sorry, old friend. But what Laveaux wants, she gets. And it just so happened she wanted to meet the famous Nathan Drake. I never was one to disappoint.”

There was a loud thud as Harry lurched forward, shoving Jón against the wall as his hands gripped his wrist and shoulder. Just as he had the weapon, Jón was able to push him off, his face red with rage as he now stared down the barrel of his own gun.

“Go ahead,” he dared, seeing the other with his finger on the trigger. “Get every officer in a kilometer to come running.”

Harry’s eyes flashed, his breath becoming short as his grip tightened. With every fiber of his being telling him to shoot, he dropped his arm and stepped back, cursing as he did. Taking the opportunity, Jón disappeared through the curtain.

“Goddamn it,” Sully muttered as Harry put the gun in the back waistband of his jeans. “So much for the element of surprise.”

“No shit,” came the remark as Harry peeked out of the curtain to see a couple walk in – there was no trace of the blonde Frenchman. It shifted back into place as he turned around. “She’ll have that place on lockdown before we even get to it.”

Sully nodded absentmindedly as Harry crossed his arms.

“Older mines should have two access points.”

“In the restricted section, maybe, but I’d have no idea where to start looking.”

Silence fell between them, allowing them to hear light chatter in the main room. Harry found himself trying to mentally recall the blueprints he had only seen a handful of times, but his memory was fuzzy at best. Most of the mines were blocked off by fences and past cave-ins. Very little was accessible, something his ex-client had been very unhappy with in the beginning. Even though certain sections were cut off, Laveaux and her crew had been digging and drilling, no doubt causing other collapses; that and their location inside could have very well be in areas he and Sully would have to traverse.

“Everyone one I’ve talked to knows about that place.”

“An astute observation, Sullivan,” Harry commented sarcastically.

“Shut up and let me finish.” Harry frowned. “That means kids know. You wanna try to tell me that kids in this damn town haven’t gone to an abandoned mineshaft within walking distance?”

Harry’s eyes lit up and he uncrossed his arms. “They’d know that place backwards.”

Sully nodded as he put out his cigar. “Exactly.”

* * *

 

There was a sickening crack as steel made contact with Nathan’s side. With only enough time to get out a partial shout, another contact was made to his thigh. He bit the inside of his mouth when the pipe sank into the slice on his leg, digging into the tissue, feeling as though it would make contact with the bone.

“Are you going to fucking bite me again?!” Enzo screamed as he pushed harder on the pipe. Nathan shook his head, but his nonverbal communication did not sit well. “Are you?!” He pulled down, tearing the wound further.

“No!” he yelled at him, which seemed to appease his captor, whereas Enzo stopped putting pressure on his leg.

“Get up!”

Nathan groaned, his body drenched in sweat as pained coursed through him. He rolled to his side, struggling to even make it to all fours. The bullet in his leg must have hit a nerve, because he had yet to regain any form of sensation; meanwhile, his right leg, which had sustained much more damage, retained all sense of feeling, which aggravated him more than anything.

Becoming irate with the fortune hunter’s slow reaction time, Enzo grabbed Nathan by the arm and back of the neck, jerking him to his feet and shoving his chest against the chain linked fence. He suddenly felt the cold metal of the pipe press against his rectum. Before he was able to get out a word of protest, Enzo rammed the pipe into him, the rust peeling the skin of his anal cavity. When it was pushed in further, blood began dripping down the insides of his thighs, mixing with the semen that still clung to his skin. He released an estranged cry as a sharp pain hit the bottom of his stomach.

He reached behind him, only to have his hand arrest and pushed against the fence.

A throated groan escaped him from the pressure mounting in his stomach.

Doing his best to ignore the pain, and uncertain if his assumption would work on the off-chance it was true, Nathan came out with, “You know your boss will kill you if you kill me, right?”

Enzo’s grip on his increased before it relaxed. In an instant, he pulled the pipe out, receiving a yell, along with a stream of blood. He turned Nathan around, pressing his back to the links, his forearm across Nathan’s chest. For some reason, his reaction did not garner the slightest bit of concern from the famed Nathan Drake.

“You think you’re immune to her?” Enzo demanded, his tone threatening.

“More than you are, obviously.”

The comment did not sit well with the Frenchman and he pressed his forearm to cut off Nathan’s air, pushing on the younger man’s windpipe until his face was flush with color. Nathan grabbed at his hip and arm, trying to push him off. The longer he went without oxygen, the more frantic he became. White shot across his vision. His hand began searching Enzo’s belt while his other tried to find his pressure points.

Just as he felt something hard, Enzo stepped back, leaving Nathan to fall to the ground.

He began coughing and wheezing, sucking in breath after breath as his arms wrapped around his stomach. Blood pounded in his ears, muffling his hearing, which was why Laveaux’s sudden presence at the site took him by surprise.

He shot up, his hands shooting behind him as he pushed himself into an upright sitting position, his back against the fence. His eyes darted around the site, seeing two other guards behind Laveaux; Enzo now stood to his right, his body facing his boss as he stood straight. The woman walked over to him, her heels clicking on the ground. She knelt in front of him and reached her hand out, running her fingers through Nathan’s hair. The touch made his chest pound and he weighed his options on whether or not to make an escape attempt. The armed guards behind her quickly swayed his decision.

“Do I make you nervous, Mr. Drake? I see Enzo has been taking very good care of you,” she smiled, attempting a soft expression.

“Lady, you and I have vastly different definitions of being taken care of.”

She chuckled as she took her hand back. Staring into Nathan’s eyes, and keeping her calm composure, she brought her hand up, smacking him across the face. “I thought I broke you of that attitude.” She stood up, moving to one of her guards. Motioning to his AK, he handed it to her. She inspected the weapon, weighing it in her hands before looking through the scope at Nathan. She pointed it up, pressing on the trigger; a loud spurt of bullets exploded from the gun’s barrel, causing both Nathan and her guards to jump. Seeming satisfied, she pointed the weapon back at her captive; his entire body tensed.

“Stand up.” She placed her finger on the trigger. Nathan held his hand up as his other gripped the fence behind him. Just as he was about to respond, Laveaux shook her head. “This isn’t up for negotiation. Either you stand or I shoot.”

“Okay, okay,” he said quickly.

Using his grip on the fence for support, he tried to stand up. Numbing pain shot through his legs and his hips, and he did falter several times, but with the threat of death upon him, he was able to get to his feet on his own. His muscles cried out to collapse, but with his grip taut on the chain links, he was able to stay up. Laveaux used the scope to scan his beaten and abused body – from the holes, cuts and bruises on his abdomen down to his exposed groin to the slice she had made and bruises forming on his right leg.

She motioned to the guards behind her with her head. Without any verbal commands, both guards approached Nathan and took hold of his arms. They pulled him away from the fence, dragging him to the middle of the site, all the while, Laveaux following their actions with the rifle. Once satisfied, the two guards released his arms, leaving Nathan to fall to the ground, barely catching himself with his arms. Just as he pushed himself up, a boot slammed down between his shoulder blades, pushing him back into the dirt and rocks. Unable to see her, but hearing her come close to him, Nathan’s entire being clenched.

He felt the cold steel of the barrel run up his inner thigh.

“I suggest you don’t move, less you want a round of bullets coming out of you.” The barrel touched the bottom of his buttocks and she used it to spread his right cheek. Taking advantage of the still-wet blood dripping from his rectum, she pressed the tip to his entrance. With his heart pounding viciously in his chest, and nausea rising in his throat, a throaty scream fell from his throat as the gun slid into his anus.

With the barrel now buried inside him, she lifted the gun up, forcing Nathan to prop himself on his knees, his upper body still being pushed into the ground by the guard’s steel-toed boot. She slowly slid the barrel in deeper and deeper until it would not go in any further. The same pressure that hit the bottom of his abdomen with the pipe returned, but it faded as the barrel was slowly pulled back.

Laveaux began sliding it in and out at a faster pace, receiving small grunts and muffled cries from the man on the ground. His insides burned and his entire being wanted to fight back, but not only did he lack the strength to take on four armed persons, the threat that at any moment Laveaux could pull the trigger on the gun buried inside his anal cavity at any given moment.

“What’s wrong, Mr. Drake? No witty comments?” she and her guards laughed and she pushed the barrel in deeper than it should have been able to go. The response was a loud shout from Nathan as the weapon passed his rectum, tearing pass his sigmoid colon. The pain that had been mounting in his lower abdomen became sharp and his arms wrapped around his stomach. Tears of agony formed at his ducts as Laveaux and her henchmen continued to laughing and mocking his situation as she repeated her last action; it garnered another loud scream that echoed off of the mine’s walls. “Do you want to end this, Nathan Drake? Just say the word.” Her voice was in complete contradiction to her actions, coming out smooth and sympathetic. She shoved the barrel in deeper with another rough motion, passing his colon.

His voice caught in his throat between a scream and trying to speak. Right as she did it again, he shouted out, “S-Stop!”

Their reaction was one he did not expect: the men laughed and Laveaux ceased her torture. She slowly pulled it out and pushed it back in, though not going as deep, but still garnering a cringe from the treasure hunter. “Are you asking for me to stop?” She stared down at him, waiting for a response, but he said nothing, his face contorted into pain. “Oh, Mr. Drake,” she said slowly, the unnatural smile returning to her features. With her finger on the trigger, she squeezed.

A hollow click sounded.

Nathan’s entire body froze, his eyes wide as silence fell.

The weapon clicked.

The chamber was empty.

Even death was a mercy she would not grant.

Losing control of himself, he gasped, choking on his breath as it came out in a loud cry. Laughter rang out around him and Laveaux finally removed the AK, leaving his body to collapse. His lower stomach cramped in pain, his right leg throbbed, his entire body aching from the cruelty.

He stayed in the same spot, not attempting to move away, his body curling into the fetal position as the laughter around him died down. He clamped his eyes shut, listening as footsteps moved away from him, including the sound of high heels. The four people switched to French as Laveaux began talking to them, her voice authoritative. Nathan tried to pick up some words, but could only catch the names “Jón” and “Victor.” He questioned if she meant Sully, but he found the notion to be inane, knowing it was impossible for it to be his partner.

If only.

Footsteps fell into the distance down the mineshaft and he exhaled a breath he was not even aware he had been holding. His body sank into the ground and he reveled in the short amount of reprieve he had. It was short lived when he opened his eyes to see boots in front of him.

“Hard to believe you’re the famous Nathan Drake,” Enzo said as he crouched down in front of him. He spit on him, Nathan getting enough energy to glare at him. “I don’t understand her fascination with you. All this to lure you out, it’s pathetic.” Questions ran through head, but he was not given any time to think as Enzo stood and kicked his chest, pushing him to his back. The Frenchman reached down to grab him by the neck, hauling him up into a sitting position. He grabbed Enzo’s wrist, but the man’s grip only increased and he began dragging him back to the fence. With strength that could have been on-par with unnatural, Enzo hoisted Nathan to his feet and shoved him against the fence, squeezing on his jugular. “All this bullshit and for what? To play a game with you?” His grip got tighter as Nathan fought harder. “People like you do nothing and get everything and it makes me sick.”

His voice began to be drowned out by the blood pounding in Nathan’s ears. With one hand still holding onto his wrist, Nathan reached behind him, his other hand fumbling in the band of his jeans. With nothing but unadulterated rage in the larger man’s eyes, with all of his focus centered on the purple flush in Nathan’s face, he failed to notice the knife he had once had now sat in Nathan’s hand.

Right as he noticed, Nathan jammed the blade into the side of Enzo’s neck, pulling it forward and slicing his neck clean open.

In shock, Enzo dropped him and pulled back, his hands at his throat as blood began pouring out. Now on the ground, Nathan panted as he watched Enzo try desperately to stop the blood as he stumbled back. He fell to the ground, gurgling on blood, his strength draining. In a matter of minutes, Enzo was lying in a pool of his own blood, his chest still as the last bit of blood pumped out of his neck from his stopping heart.

Nathan released a breath, coughing as his face contorted in pain from the pressure. Although his mind and body was pleading to rest, he knew he only had a few minutes at best until a patrol guard came through. With what strength he had left, he forced himself to his feet, using the fence to support his left leg that gave none. If he left down the shaft, he would encounter Laveaux’s men, there was no doubt; but if he were to follow the fence—

His eyes trailed down the line to where it met a rock wall. There was a small opening, one he might have been able to fit through.

Keeping himself balanced, he hobbled his way to the crevice, every step causing a shooting pain throughout his thighs and abdomen; his head constantly pounding and constant chills waving through his body failed to aid him. Sure enough, the opening was just large enough to accommodate his size. Cringing, he flattened himself and fit his shoulder through; as he slipped between the walls, the rock cut against his already opened wounds, but he did his best to ignore the pain, knowing what would come if he were caught. As his body disappeared, he began to hear voices from the site before he heard loud shouting. Adrenaline flowing, he moved as quickly as he could, managing to turn a tight corner, the voices fading.

As he followed along the walls, an opening finally made itself apparent. With a loud grunt, he pushed out of the crevice, collapsing to all fours onto a small ledge. The area it dropped him off in was a large, opened section, the ceiling hanging high above his head; an opening in it allowed sunlight to leak in. Crawling forward, he looked down from the ledge he was on; he could see the off yellow of an old excavation hardhat, along with sharp rocks and a reflection of what he assumed to be glass. A straight drop may not have killed a man, but it certainly would have caused a few broken bones.

Before regaining his stance, he looked for away off of the ledge. Outside of the busted hardhat below, there appeared to be no manmade structures in the area – no wooden walkways, no lamps, nothing. Yet luck appeared to be on his side when he saw a small ledge to his right along the wall. Though it was narrow, on the other end was ground and a slope that appeared to go downwards.  

With a cry of pain, he brought himself back to his feet, stumbling as he tried to keep his balance with only one leg. “Come on, Nate,” he mused to himself, his breath short. “Up is out, right?” His back fell against the wall when he got to it, shutting his eyes and calming his breath. Once his breathing became even, he opened his eyes back and looked down. The ledge was narrow, no more than those he had traversed in the past, but at those times, he was not sporting a numb leg and another that was barely mobile.

Taking a deep breath, he slowly slid his right foot onto the narrow rock. Keeping his body pressed against the wall, he dragged his left leg each time his right light slid forward – each move was calculated. When he made it to the opposite end, an air of relief swept through him. “Thank god,” he said as his feet left the ledge and made it to wider ground. He fell again, this time unable to catch himself and his knees slamming hard on the earth. He wrapped his arms around himself as another cold chill came over him, along with a wave of nausea. He leaned forward and set his forehead on the ground, inhaling sharply from the pain in his lower intestine.

It took him a few minutes to recover and drag himself back to his feet, but once he was stable, he started towards the opening. His movements were slow and unsteady. With each step came sounds of distress, although unwilling. As he came to the top of the slope, he peered down into the darkness to which it led. The light from the opening in the site failed to penetrate to into the shaft, yet he knew he had no other choice than to follow it and hope for the best. His boots slid on the rocks as he began to descend and he stumbled slightly, regaining his balance by reaching out for the shaft’s wall before he entered obscurity.

Using only his hand on the wall for guidance, the light began to vanish behind him. Despite monitoring each step, his right foot slid on dirt and gravel. With his left unable to support the sudden shift, he fell forward, sliding down the slope, his arms trying to reach out and grab onto whatever he could.

“Crap – crap!” he yelled out as the slope ended abruptly, leading off an edge of a cliff. He grabbed the edge just as he went over, his fingers digging into the soil, catching himself. Using what bit of strength he had left, he struggled to pull himself back up onto solid ground. Pangs began shooting down his side, his ribs cracking from the pressure. Unable to garner enough strength to hoist himself up, his grip began to loosen. “No, no, no! Please don’t let go,” he pleaded with himself, his grip faltering. With one last attempt, his muscles flexed out and he began to gain traction.

Right as he thought he had gained the upper hand, the section he was holding onto gave way and he plummeted off the edge of the cliff.

His body his the ground below with a thud.

With all of his fortitude and brawn gone, he released a choked cry, his being searing with agony.  

He curled into the fetal position, his arms wrapping around his stomach as sharp pains and chills flooded his entire being. For the first time, unwanted cries left him, his body beginning to shut down and succumb to the sickness and fatigue. After everything he had been through, this was where it would end: curled in a ball at the bottom of a cliff, completely exposed in an abandoned mine shaft. The only person who knew where he was had probably already run off to save his own ass. And even if Flynn did come back to try to find him, he would fail. The mine was like a maze, there would be no way for anyone to find him…or his body.

Between cold and agony, his mind began fading.

The last thing he heard was his heartbeat.


End file.
